Fingers Crossed
by Crankwave
Summary: Thatcher doesn't let people get close to him. Having people at a distance keeps them and himself safe. Of course, it doesn't let a certain Frenchman from try to get as close as he can. [Montage/Thatcher]


It was pouring outside. Large droplets of rain splattered on the windowsill. Baker watched silently as the rain continued to pound down against the base.

Mike lets a heavy sigh pass his lips as he pours the boiled tea into his white mug with a faded union jack printed on it - one that has seen much use.

The Brit brings up his free hand to rub at his eyes. Attempting to wipe away the tiredness from them. It was yet another unsuccessful night of sleep.

The man grabs his cup and exits out of the kitchen area. Making his way down the hall, back to his room. He finally is going to read the new operatives files. They should be arriving within a week.

Mike felt bad for forgetting about the files for this long. But he has been wrapped up in other things that it must have just slipped his mind.

He only makes it halfway down the hall before the sound of something breaking - a wall probably with screaming following far too close behind to be comforting echoes across the base.

Thatcher stops dead in his tracks and shuts his eyes tightly. Pinching at the bridge of his nose. He knows exactly what happened. James did something stupid to pissed Seamus off, thus having to use his sledgehammer. Mike swears to god if another wall is broken. He is personally going to kill them both, no mercy.

A headache began creeping its way behind his eyes. Mike doesn't turn around to go where the sound came from. Just continues to march his ass to his room.

Once he gets there he slams the door shut behind him, making his head rattle slightly. Okay, bad idea on his part. He walks his way over to his bed and places the cup onto the nightstand. Right next to the tablet. He gives a glare at it out of spite.

After almost a year, Mark had finally convinced him to upgrade to new tech. It ended up in a lot of kicking and screaming but he caved in eventually, mainly for the fact he was tired of just hearing the other SAS operative beg him to ditch his old dinosaur of a phone. Even still he refuses to use it. Only in dire circumstances would Mike think about consider using it.

The throbbing pain in his head doesn't seem to be settling down and even looking at the device made his vision blur and bile make it's way up his throat.

So Mike shuts his eyes tightly and pushes nausea back down. A migraine, just fucking great. It seems like everything is going against him today.

The tea and files are forgotten as he settles into bed. Eyes shutting instantly as his head rested against the pillow.

He wakes up later to the sound of a light knocking at his door. It seemed like a headache was gone by now, only leaving a lingering ghost feeling in the back of his head.

"Monsieur Baker is everything alright." Someone calls through the door.

With his brain still groggy and slow, it takes Mike a while to register the words and cycle through the sentence a few time to make sure it was all in the right order, to make sure he heard everything correctly.

"Yes, I am fine," Thatcher replies, pulling himself out of bed. He eyes the tea, knowing it must be ice cold by now.

He grabs the cup and tucks the tablet under his arm. Heading for the door. Gilles has a few seconds to move out of the way before the door opens up. The Brit raises an eyebrow. "Was there something you needed?"

The other just shakes his head. "I was just wondering where you were since I heard you slam your door earlier."

"Oh yeah sorry if I disturbed ya, I was just in a poor mood." Mike starts his walk down the hall while Gilles follows to his side. They didn't say anything after that, allowing a comfortable silence to drift around them. The only sound being that of the buzzing lights and the light pattering of rain hitting the base.

"Is it still raining?" Mike asked, eyes looking up at the ceiling as if it held the answer he was looking for.

"Afraid so, Though everyone seems to be cramped up in the rec room."

"Love to join but I've got work to do, see ya, Gilles." Thatcher gives a small wave to the other man off as they pass the rec room, heading his way down the corridor.


End file.
